Lethal Circuit by Lars Guignard Page A

communications systems were still intact.”
    Mobi let out a slow breath. “I knew it. You guys have got one, don’t you? Where is it? Nellis? Edwards?”
    “No. In spite of our best efforts, we don’t have a 21, Mr. Stearn.”
    “Then what are you saying?”
    “They have one. An unmanned Chinese satellite incorporating what our experts believe to be a working model of the Horten’s cold fusion reactor was launched into orbit twenty-six hours ago.”
    Unable to contain himself, Mobi jumped up from his chair. “Awesome. What can I say? This is just awesome.”
    “It’s not entirely awesome, Mr. Stearn.”
    “Which part? The part about cold fusion being the answer to the world’s energy crisis? The part about not having to burn oil anymore? Or the part about no nasty radioactive waste like you get out of nuclear fission?” Mobi threw his hands into the air. “Which part of this equation could not possibly be awesome?”
    “The part about the Chinese having lost control of their satellite,” Alvarez said.
    “Lost control?” Mobi asked, “As in dead in the air?”
    This time Rand made no effort to disguise his smug superiority. “As in the Chinese bird is on a collision course with Earth. Unless we can do something about it, your totally awesome cold fusion reactor is about to blow a whole lot of people all the way to hell.”

16

    O NE DAY M ICHAEL got home from school early. He must have been in the fifth or sixth grade. His dad had just gotten back from one of his trips and he had a gift for him. It was a little woven bamboo tube called a Chinese Finger Puzzle. The trick was, you stuck a finger into either end of the little woven tube and you pulled. The tube grabbed your fingers and wouldn’t let go. The more you pulled, the tighter it grabbed. The only way to get your fingers out was to go in the opposite direction. To push them together so that the little tube squished back down and widened, finally letting your fingers out. Michael played with the finger puzzle for weeks after that until finally it broke. It was fun while it lasted though. And it taught Michael an important lesson. Sometimes to move forward, you needed to take a step back.

    M ICHAEL WASN ’ T ACCUSTOMED to Houdini acts. But a Houdini act was apparently what Kate had planned for them from the start. From the moment their bodies hit the hard aluminum floor of the Cessna, Kate made it clear that Michael shouldn’t get too comfortable. As soon as the plane began its slow arc onto the runway, Kate pulled Michael back to his feet, beckoning him to lift his end of the capsule. Before Michael could ask why, a second shot had hit the cowling of the aircraft. Deciding he might live a longer life off of the plane than on it, Michael picked up his end of the load and followed Kate out the far cargo door. Using the Cessna as cover, they made their way across two taxi ways to an ancient propeller driven DC3 revving for takeoff.
    A quick heave of the capsule later and they were through the DC3’s open cargo door. It only took another moment for their pursuers to sideswipe the Cessna, but by that time the DC3’s wheels had left the ground. Examining their current conveyance, Michael had to wonder if taking a bullet might not have been a better option. The old DC3’s cabin was no more than a bare shell, hay swirling in the heavy breeze. There was a crate of pigs at the back and a hole in the fuselage where the cargo door should have been. A manufacturer’s plate mounted above the hole indicated that the aircraft dated back to 1942. Michael was about to hazard a guess as to how often it had been serviced since then, when the logical half of his brain told him to stop. If the plane was good enough for the pigs, it would have to be good enough for him.
    “Hand me the cargo net!” Kate shouted over the wind.
    Michael looked up at the canvas cargo net he held with one hand. He released it from a tie bracket and handed it to Kate, careful to avoid